“All this time I knew I needed some really good therapy and I found it —in poetry.”

Release the person’s place thought-feeling.

I will always meet you with kindness.

I still have hope that one day someone will love all of me – from the hallelujahs right down to the hallows.

You took my heart, hope, love, and trust when you left but you gave me good poetry.

You are whole and complete all on your own everything you need is within you peel away the layers come home.

My eyes, finally conscious of the truth that is, now see unclouded.

Why do I paint a happy face every single holiday when they are a stinging reminder of what and who is absent.

Listen to the heart to its beat in time words are no match for what is spoken in the heart’s rhyme.

Friendships exist in the fluctuations between acceptance and rejection.

I want to be loved so I try to be you then I realize what I see in you is in the mirror looking back at me.

I remind myself what I desire in another is myself undiscovered.

Release the things that no longer serve you like the petals of a flower. It will seed your life with new growth and you will bloom again.

I am both mud and lotus but, my love you only see the mud.

Our lives are now changed forced anew we start again it’s all we can do.

Through poems, I speak the language of my soul and the emotions of my body onto paper.

Being an empath is a gift – at the same time, you also carry the weight of the world.

The poetry is myself.

Poetry, being elegance itself, cannot hope to achieve visibility… It insists on living its own life.

There are in this world two kinds of natures, – those that have wings, and those that have feet, – the winged and the walking spirits. The walking are the logicians; the winged are the instinctive and poetic.

I could sing you a thousand and one doo-wop songs. I love the simplicity in that music. It’s not super-poetic, it’s just from the heart.

Poetry is a religion with no hope.

Stronger than alcohol, vaster than poetry, Ferment the freckled red bitterness of love!

The way she danced through life was poetry.

My method is simple: not to bother about poetry. It must come of its own accord. Merely whispering its name drives it away.